


ten months

by desdeestrellas (m_barcelona)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou Friendship, Gyms, Heartbreak, M/M, One-Sided Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, One-Sided Attraction, Philosophical Akaashi, Pining, Pining Bokuto Koutarou, Unrequited Love, i promise no one dies, they're all personal trainers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_barcelona/pseuds/desdeestrellas
Summary: Ten months.That’s how long it takes for Bokuto to fall in love. That’s how long it takes for him to lose everything.Let’s start at the beginning.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	ten months

**Author's Note:**

> huge shoutout to the incredible syd ([twitter](https://twitter.com/byletheisnrs)) for proofreading and editing this :-)

_NOVEMBER_

The first day at a new job is many things: exhilarating, nerve-wracking, overwhelming, and sometimes boring as hell.

Bokuto had been prepared for all that when he walked into Fukurodani Studio, a big-name gym making waves in the fitness industry, for the first time. He was prepared for the small talk (“How long have you lived in the city?” and “How did you become a personal trainer?” and “How do you get your hair to do that?”), the introductions, the fake smiles, the nagging knowledge that he’s a cog in the capitalist machine.

That sort of thing.

Nothing prepared him, though, for some jackass coworker with a bad attitude to try bossing him around.

Bokuto is in the middle of the aforementioned bullshit small talk with whats-his-name-with-the-rooster-hair when a low voice interrupts. “Who the hell put this stuff here?”

The voice is quiet, controlled, and absolutely bone-chilling. For a moment Bokuto worries that it’s his boss, or the owner, or royalty. Someone important, at least, who has a right to speak to him that way.

When he turns around, though, he finds himself face-to-face with a complete stranger. A man with a nice jawline and dark blue eyes. Someone Bokuto would’ve enjoyed flirting with under other circumstances.

The man gestures at Bokuto’s jacket, tossed over the reception desk.

“You can’t leave things here,” he says, eyes shooting daggers directly at Bokuto. “Clean it up.”

And with that, he walks off and disappears into the men’s changing room. No _welcome to the team_ or _nice to meet you_ or anything. The silence he leaves behind is deafening, interrupted only by the sound of the gym’s industrial fan in the far corner of the studio. _That damn fan needs to read the room,_ Bokuto thinks to himself.

Bokuto tries to brush the encounter from his mind as this other coworker gives him a tour of the whole gym. Locker room, weights, bikes, heavy bag….

He’s trying desperately to regain his mojo in time for his first personal training session to begin in half an hour, but that asshole managed to get under his skin. He needs to be pumped and inspiring and energetic to keep his student motivated, but all he can focus on is this simmering rage.

And, if he’s being honest, a bit of unnamable shame. He messed up on his first day, somehow. He made an enemy of a coworker. How the hell did he screw this up already?

The guy with the rooster hair notices Bokuto’s foul mood. “Oh, don’t mind him,” he says nonchalantly, nodding in the direction of the changing rooms. “Akaashi is in a shitty mood because he just broke things off with his fiancé.”

Akaashi. Annoying name.

“Shit, that’s too bad,” Bokuto says, in an effort to not seem like a jerk. Truthfully, he doesn’t know the guy well enough to care. He tries to imagine that kind of pain – falling in love with someone, and then falling out of love – but he can’t. Love has never been a priority to Bokuto. It seems like a waste of time.

And heartbreak sure as hell doesn’t give someone the right to be a dick.

“Yeah, he won’t admit it but he’s pretty broken up about the whole thing. He’ll come around, though. He’s not an easy guy to connect with, but if you try talking to him about dreams I bet he’ll warm up to you pretty easily.”

“Wha- dreams?” Bokuto asks, trying to understand how that relates to anything.

“He’s a unique character,” the guy shrugs. “He studies dreams and shit in his spare time. Philosophy. Things like that. I don’t really get it to be honest, but he’s super into it.”

It’s an interesting thought, but Bokuto really isn’t interested in getting to know him any better. Not after that bullshit introduction.

This _Akaashi_ has landed himself squarely on Bokuto’s shit list. 

_DECEMBER_

Bokuto lets out a sigh as he flips his calendar to December. _Maybe this one will be better,_ he tells himself.

Last month had been rough. He loves his work, really - he’ll always cherish the feeling of helping people reach their goals and become stronger day by day. Seeing a student’s eyes shine with the adrenaline that comes from a good workout, collapsing with exhaustion after a tough session – every moment of it reminds him of why he’s alive. He’s good at what he does, and he knows it.

But dragging himself out of bed every day just to be berated or side-eyed by that jerk Akaashi sure as hell isn’t getting any easier.

It doesn’t help that his only other friend at work (Kuroo) is best buddies with Akaashi. Bokuto can’t even trash talk the guy. It’s infuriating.

His phone chimes from its place on the kitchen counter, far too loud for such a small apartment. _Speak of the devil_ \- it’s Kuroo. 

_holiday party dec. 18th 7pm at my place! you in?_

Before he has the chance to register the message, he catches sight of the time. 

“Oh, shit,” he mutters. He needs to be at work in ten minutes, he’s not dressed, and it’s a fifteen minute drive. 

He grabs some clothes out of his dresser at random and pops a stick of gum in his mouth for freshness. It will have to do. He shoves his toothbrush into his bag for later. Keys - where the hell are his keys? There - he pockets them and rushes out the door. 

He bursts through the gym’s door at 9:02am, feeling pretty proud of himself, and greets the other startled instructors with a boisterous “hey, hey, hey!” to make up for his tardiness. Judging by their unenthusiastic response, it doesn’t work. 

Oh, well. At least jerkface doesn’t seem to be here to say anything about it. 

Bokuto immediately gets to work locating his client - a 16-year-old boy who shrugs when Bokuto apologizes for being late - and excuses himself for one moment to get changed into his company uniform. 

He barges into the locker room (really more of a bathroom with a little extra space and some cubbies, if he’s being honest) and tugs off his shirt while rummaging through his bag for his uniform, dropping everything in the process. He curses under his breath as he stoops down to gather his things, trying not to think about the paying student waiting out in the gym for him. 

“Why don’t you just come dressed in your uniform?”

The voice startles Bokuto, still half-dressed and hunched over the spilled contents of his bag. He gives himself an extra moment before turning around, steeling himself for the conversation ahead. _Deep breaths, Bokuto._

“Because,” he grits out, turning to face Akaashi, “I like to make an entrance. Got it?” 

It’s not strictly true. Bokuto is so busy with work that he doesn’t have time to go to many other places. If he had to wear that stupid uniform every time he left his apartment, he’d lose his damn mind. At least getting dressed in the morning gives him a sense of purpose. 

“Maybe you should try making your entrance on time,” Akaashi says, not meeting Bokuto’s eyes. There’s less heat in the remark than Bokuto has grown accustomed to. Akaashi seems distracted. 

“Oh, shove it,” Bokuto mutters, not ready to start an argument over this. His client is in the gym waiting. It’s not exactly time for a friendly locker room chat. 

He pulls on his shirt and tosses his bag in the corner. Akaashi says something about using a locker next time, but Bokuto is out the door before he hears the rest of it. 

Another day in paradise. 

—

December 18th arrives in a hurry. 

It’s an unseasonably warm day (thanks, climate change) and as Bokuto stands in the hall in front of the door to Kuroo’s apartment, he can’t tell if his palms are sweating from the heat or from nerves. 

Definitely the heat. Nothing to be nervous about. 

He raises his hand to knock on the door (green with chipped paint) and lets out three solid taps. He can hear voices on the other side laughing, and jolly music. He’s at least an hour late, so the party is already in full swing. 

Kuroo answers the doors with a huge grin, cheeks flushed and already a bit unsteady. He ushers Bokuto inside, who tries not to gawk at the apartment as he carefully places his jacket on the fancy metal hook by the door. 

The apartment is at least twice the size of Bokuto’s studio, with doors (multiple) that lead to rooms (multiple!) and windows with real curtains and two (two!) different tables. Beneath all the party gunk, it’s clean and neat and organized. Tasteful Christmas decorations adorn doorways and windowsills. The place is the polar opposite of Bokuto’s hovel across town. 

Not to mention that it’s packed to the brim with people. 

Kuroo disappears into the crowd almost immediately, and Bokuto is left lingering by the door. He scans the room for someone he knows. No luck. 

Time to make some friends. 

He plunges into the crowd, doing his best to learn the names and faces of the guests. He fares pretty well, in his opinion, but he can’t manage to keep track of any one group for long. It feels like an intrusion to butt in for too long, even if everyone is friendly and laughs at his stupid jokes. 

An hour later, Bokuto is leaning against a wall with a drink in hand. He’s heard tales of people who get worn out by socialization, and honestly thought those people were just jerks or liars. He never expected to become one of them. 

_What am I doing here?_ He asks himself. Making friends was harder than expected, because everyone was already drunk and hanging out with their own friends when he arrived. Chatting isn’t fun when you have to wonder if the other people are only talking to you out of pity. 

He takes another sip of his drink and tries not to wince at the taste of the tequila. It makes sense that his least favorite liquor would be the only alcohol left in the whole apartment. It turns out peppermint schnapps doesn’t last long at a Christmas party. 

Kuroo is across the room, arm slung casually around a smaller guy with dyed blond hair. His boyfriend, as far as Bokuto can tell from body language and the snippets of conversation he has overheard. He’s never heard Kuroo talk about the guy. Maybe they aren’t as close as he thought. 

He considers going over to join the conversation, but it doesn’t seem worth the trouble. He’d rather get as trashed as possible and head out early. 

Then he spots someone else he knows. Across the room, equally alone, stands Akaashi. He looks out of place among the laughing and dancing guests, standing off to the side and watching the commotion, but then, Bokuto probably looks the same.

He can’t help but look at Akaashi through an appraising gaze. It must be the alcohol - it _must_ be - but Bokuto finds himself itching to get a closer look at those perfect eyes. 

He makes his way across the room, emboldened by the drink in his hand (and the other three in his bloodstream). He’s not sure if he wants to start a fight or start a friendship, or something else entirely, but Akaashi seems like the answer to the wordless question he has been asking himself all night. 

Akaashi is the first to speak when Bokuto approaches. “Hey,” he says, without his usual snark. 

“Hey, hey,” Bokuto responds. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Akaashi answers, deadpan. 

“Hey, h-” Bokuto attempts valiantly, before bursting into laughter. Akaashi follows suit, doubling over with the force of it. Bokuto wonders distantly how many drinks the other guy has had. But, damn, if this isn’t the funniest shit that has ever happened. 

When they regain their composure, Akaashi clears his throat. “So, uh, fun party.” 

“I don’t really know anyone here aside from Kuroo.”

“Yeah, I figured you must be pretty desperate if you decided to come talk to me.” Akaashi says this with half a smile, like a secret. It catches Bokuto entirely off guard. 

They lapse into silence, not sure where to go from here. They’re not exactly on friendly terms, but at least they’re allies here. 

“What are you drinking?” Akaashi asks finally, trying to fill the silence. 

“Boxed margarita mix, I think.” He sniffs it for emphasis and makes a show of grimacing. 

“Festive.”

“It gets the job done.”

Another silence. Too long. Bokuto strains his muddled brain for a topic, and grabs hold of something Kuroo had mentioned to him when they first met. “Oh, uh, Kuroo said you know a lot of things about dreams, or something.”

Akaashi gives him an unreadable look. After a beat too long, he asks, “How did that come up?”

“Uh, I don’t know, he just...mentioned it. A while ago. I don’t really know why.”

“Oh. Yeah, dreams are pretty cool,” he says without elaboration. 

They go on like that for a while, taking turns with flimsy attempts at conversation and lengthy silences, pretending that they could be friends. It’s not the most comfortable conversation, but it’s something. It’s something. 

_JANUARY_

January starts off better than expected. 

The cold is bitter, the wind biting every exposed inch of skin. The snow never comes, leaving nothing but sunny frigid days. The worst kind of weather. 

But despite all that, it isn’t terrible. Bokuto’s work is going well - he’s very in-demand among the clients, of course - and Kuroo invites him over for drinks regularly. Kenma is often there, too, and Bokuto has grown fond of Kuroo’s weird boyfriend. His quiet manner is the exact opposite of Bokuto, and he kind of likes it. They bring a kind of balance to social situations when they’re placed in the same room together. 

Most shockingly, Akaashi isn’t his enemy anymore. They aren’t technically friends, despite Bokuto’s hopes after that night at the holiday party. They’re still distant without alcohol in their systems, but at least they’re somewhat pleasant around each other. Conversational topics are limited entirely to work and small talk. Bokuto considers that an improvement from insults and snide remarks.

Things are going well. Which is why the incident in the middle of the month pisses him off so bad.

It happens in the locker room, of course. That’s where all of the workplace drama seems to happen, away from the clients and bosses and cameras. Bokuto is getting cleaned up after a long day of back-to-back sessions, his stomach growling from skipping lunch and his muscles sluggish with exhaustion. He wants to go home, heat up some leftovers from last night, pour a large glass of wine, and fall asleep in front of the television. The ideal remedy for a tiring day at work.

But then Akaashi comes in, radiating bad energy. The two of them go about their routines in tense silence for a while, until Akaashi says, “I want to ask you something.”

His tone is dangerous, and Bokuto knows immediately that he doesn’t want to have this conversation. His mind runs through various possibilities for what this could be about, and he comes up blank. It doesn’t seem like anything good, though.

Akaashi speaks before Bokuto has a chance to respond. 

“Why are you such a mess?” The question is heavy with unspoken rage, and Bokuto struggles to understand where it’s coming from. All he knows for certain is that he’s offended.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Bokuto asks, a challenge in his voice.

“You leave your things all over the locker room, you leave your clients alone in the middle of sessions to chat with Kuroo, you’re too casual about everything-”

“I know how to do my job,” Bokuto snaps. 

“You ask stupid questions -” he continues, undeterred. 

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion.” The words are too loud for the small space, but Bokuto can’t help it. His stomach burns from the effort of not swinging on this guy immediately. 

Akaashi looks at him for a long moment, evaluating. He turns away without another word and leaves the locker room. The door bangs shut behind him. 

Bokuto is left simmering with no outlet for his anger, wondering what the fuck just happened. 

_FEBRUARY_

Two weeks have passed since their argument, and Bokuto still doesn’t understand what prompted it in the first place. The two of them spent the remainder of January avoiding each other, exchanging only the necessary terse words each day.

February comes roaring in with a snowstorm, the first snow of the season. Big enough to shut the gym for two entire days.

It feels like a blessing.

Bokuto spends the days on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket as the snow outside his window coats the world in white. He hates to admit it, but he’s thankful to not have to go into work. Every day seems the same lately: a greeting from Kuroo, a glare from Akaashi, and hours upon hours of trying to convince his clients to work out for an entire session without giving up. 

The long hours spent in the warmth of his home give him too much time to reflect. He used to be excited to face the day, but now the only thing getting him through is the few moments he gets to spend with his friends.

He could still see his friends if he worked somewhere else, couldn’t he?

The question nags at him for a full 48 hours as he basks in the feeling of not dragging himself to that damn gym every morning. Two blissful, comfortable, not-sweaty days. 

He tries not to wince when, two days later, he finds himself standing in front of the gym bright and early. The drip, drip, drip of melting snow seems to taunt him.

The vibe is different when he enters the gym. He’s the first one there, which is often the case these days. His clients love early-morning workouts, unfortunately.

The space seems peaceful in the dim early-morning light, somehow, as the sun slowly creeps above the horizon. Or maybe Bokuto is just a little bit different after two days of relaxation and contemplation. 

He takes his time turning on the lights, the music, the fan. He’s already changed and ready to go by the time his client - a 55-year-old woman this time - walks in and greets him with some cheerful comment about the weather. He tries to remember why he does this job, and he almost convinces himself that he’s content to keep doing this day after day. 

Two hours later, an unfamiliar student arrives. One of Akaashi’s clients, she says, here for her first session. Bokuto kindly directs her to the women’s locker room. 

So, Akaashi will be here soon. He remembers their fight, suddenly, and wishes the whole thing had never happened. He doesn’t want things to be this way forever - tense, cold, unfriendly. 

Akaashi greets him with surprising civility. An olive branch, maybe? The white flag of surrender? 

Whatever the case, Bokuto is ready to let go of their fight, and Akaashi seems to be too. They spend the rest of the day forming a tentative peace, keeping their distance but without their usual disdain for each other. 

The next day is the same, and the day after that. 

They fall into a comfortable rhythm. They greet each other every day with a fist bump, exchange a few words. Nothing more than that, really, but Bokuto finds himself wondering if there might be something else there. Something unsaid, that led to their outburst last month. Maybe the tension has just finally reached a breaking point, and they just needed a way to let it out. 

Maybe it isn’t the bad kind of tension. 

Whatever it is, Bokuto isn’t thrilled about the careful way they’ve been acting around each other. As he, Akaashi, and Kuroo get packed up in the locker room after a long day of training, Bokuto wants nothing more than to have a normal conversation with the three of them. 

Well, no time like the present.

“I have a philosophical question for you,” Bokuto says. 

Akaashi, to his immense relief, responds without missing a beat. “Oh, yeah? Go for it,” he says. 

“Do you think the sun is a place?”

Akaashi furrows his brow. “Hm...does it really matter?”

Bokuto tries not to be offended immediately. “I thought you were supposed to be into philosophy shit? Isn’t that, like, your thing?”

At this, Akaashi pauses and considers his next words. After a long moment, he says, “I guess that is my answer from a philosophical standpoint. Why does it really matter if the sun is a place or not? We’ll never go there.”

“So that’s all that matters? Its relation to human beings?”

Another long pause. “If humans are classifying it, then yes. I would think it’s a completely subjective question and requires a subjective answer.”

“No way,” Kuroo chimes in, surprising both of them. He had been watching their conversation with increasing interest. “That’s messed up. Seriously. You’re never going to go to the bottom of the ocean, either, but that’s still a place.”

“Is it, though?” Bokuto asks, still not sure whose side he’s on. “I feel like the ocean is more of a thing. It’s too big to be a place. Like someone swimming in the ocean off the coast of New York is nowhere near someone swimming off the coast of Iceland, but it’s the same ocean.”

“So the sun isn’t a place just because it’s big?” Akaashi asks, seemingly also confused about his stance on the matter. 

“Yeah, like, it’s _in_ a place. But is it a place? I mean holy shit, is the earth even a place?”

“Yes,” Kuroo answers immediately. “Of course the earth is a place, dumbass.”

“No, no, I see where he’s coming from. It might be a thing,” Akaashi says.

A long, contemplative pause. 

“What the hell even made you think about this?” Kuroo asks Bokuto. 

Good question. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just weird to think about.”

“So it _doesn’t_ matter,” Akaashi says matter-of-factly. 

The three of them lapse into silence at that. No, it doesn’t technically matter at all. Still, Bokuto would love some fucking consensus on the matter. 

Mostly he had just been looking for an excuse to talk to Akaashi. But, damn...now he wants to figure it out. 

“Anyway,” Akaashi says, startling Kuroo and Bokuto out of their reverie, “I was thinking of having some people over on Friday.” 

“I can’t Friday,” Kuroo responds. “I would’ve expected you to know that. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you forgot.” He winks at Akaashi and walks away, chuckling to himself. 

Bokuto puzzles over Kuroo’s behavior for a moment, watching as Akaashi does the same. Then - ah, it clicks. Friday.

Akaashi seems to come to the realization at the same time. Bokuto pretends not to notice the way his cheeks color slightly. “Oh, right. Friday is the 14th,” Akaashi says. 

“Valentine’s Day,” Bokuto confirms. No need to beat around the bush. 

“Yeah.”

Somehow they had both forgotten. Bokuto tries not to think about what that means for Akaashi. It seems like neither one of them had plans. 

Akaashi pauses a moment, like he might say more. Everything about his demeanor is straining in his subtle way towards that _but._ The words balance there, their weight hung above him - but what words? What is he not saying?

Bokuto is afraid to breathe for fear it’ll come out uneven. Something has shifted between them, suddenly, and it hits Bokuto like a jolt of electricity up his spine. He tries not to shiver with the force of it.

Akaashi shifts, almost imperceptibly, and the moment is over. The unsaid words dissipate. 

They say their goodbyes as Akaashi gathers his things and leaves for the day. Bokuto agrees to lock up, hardly aware of the words he’s speaking. His mind is elsewhere. Akaashi seems distracted too. 

Bokuto is left wondering if he imagined the whole thing.

_MARCH_

He didn’t imagine it. He didn’t imagine a single damn thing. 

He still doesn’t have proof, technically, but how much clearer can it get? (Well, he can think of a few ways for that to happen, actually.) 

Things seem different between them now. Akaashi has a way of looking at Bokuto that’s hard to describe. Intense. Searing. Dangerous. But he can be sweet, too, and gentle. And thoughtful, and philosophical, and-

Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself. 

But, god, it’s impossible not to. Bokuto groans at the thought, throwing an arm across his face. The clock on his bedside table reads 11:00am. He ignores it valiantly. 

Sunday, his one day off this week. Every muscle in his body aches. No one ever told him that working in a gym would get so exhausting.

He tells himself to stop thinking about Akaashi, but he can’t. He can’t fall asleep without thinking of the _what if_ s. 

What if Akaashi doesn’t look at other people the way he looks at Bokuto? What if the reason they butt heads so much is because of some unspoken thing that they’re not ready to admit? What if they could have something really, truly great together?

What if Akaashi lays awake at night asking himself these same questions?

—

Monday comes too quickly. Monday comes too slowly. Bokuto’s priorities are at war: his desire to avoid work as long as possible, his desire to be near Akaashi. Everything is so complicated these days. 

Akaashi greets him with a warm smile and a fist bump. The touch sends sparks up Bokuto’s arm, and the smile sends an explosion of warmth somewhere deep within him. They exchange a few words about their weekend, the weather. Never too personal, but the tone is starkly different than it used to be. Something unspoken dances in Akaashi’s eyes. 

It’s been like this for weeks now. The little touches, the looks. They aren’t friends, exactly, but they get along. They spend more time in silence than not, which is unusual for Bokuto, but he finds words to be wholly inadequate for whatever is transpiring between them. 

It’s as if putting a name to this would ruin it. This _thing._ Whatever it is. 

Bokuto groans loudly and runs his fingers through his hair, then catches sight of himself in the locker room mirror. Ah, shit, it’s going to take forever to fix his perfect hair spikes. 

A voice startles him. “Oh, man, you messed up your frosted tips,” Kuroo says, emerging from behind the bank of lockers. Bokuto hopes desperately that he hadn’t heard that exclamation. 

“So….,” Kuroo trails off, growing more serious as he searches for the right words. “You wanna tell me what’s bothering you?”

Bokuto feels suddenly, overwhelmingly thankful for him. Without quite realizing it, Bokuto has begun to see Kuroo as his best friend. 

“I...yeah, actually. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, dude. I’m done training for the day anyway, so I’ve got time.”

“It’s- there’s this guy,” Bokuto starts carefully. One misstep, one detail too many, and Kuroo will figure out who he’s talking about. “A guy I think I might be catching feelings for, and sometimes I think he feels the same way but sometimes I think he genuinely hates me. Or I hate him. I don’t know.”

“Has anything happened?”

“No, not exactly. It’s hard to explain. Like sometimes he gives me this look… and sometimes he says things that just make me wonder, you know?” Bokuto finishes lamely. It sounds terrible out loud, like the sad wishful thinking of a schoolboy. 

Kuroo furrows his brow. 

“I know how it sounds!” Bokuto rushes on. “It’s really hard to explain, but I promise I’m not making this up. I know what I’ve seen.”

The locker room door opens, squeaking horribly on its hinges. Bokuto cuts off abruptly. 

Akaashi rounds the corner and looks utterly unsurprised to find the two of them colluding. Bokuto feels his face grow warm. 

“Hey. Am I interrupting?”

Kuroo’s gaze slides over to Bokuto, letting him take the lead. “Uh, no,” Bokuto says. “Not really. We can talk about this later.”

“O-kay,” Akaashi says, drawing out the syllables skeptically. 

“Really, it was nothing,” Kuroo assures him. “I was just leaving actually. Catch you guys later.” With that, he grabs his bag and disappears, the squealing of the door confirming his departure. 

Akaashi and Bokuto stand in uncomfortable silence, not meeting each other’s eyes. 

When it grows unbearable, Bokuto blurts out, “We were talking about guys.”

Akaashi raises a questioning eyebrow. It sends shivers of electricity up Bokuto’s spine.

“Guys?” 

_Oh, shit_ . Does Akaashi think he’s straight? _Well, may as well clear that up,_ Bokuto tells himself. Even still, he can’t help the way his heart leaps into his throat at the thought. He has been out for years, but somehow it never gets easier to tell people for the first time.

“I’ve just...been single for a while, you know? It’s getting pretty damn old.” He forces out a lighthearted laugh. 

“Being single is pretty great,” Akaashi says with a secretive sort of smile. What the hell does that mean? 

_At least he was cool about the gay thing. Does that mean…?_

“Yeah, I bet you party it up all the time now, huh?” Bokuto asks with forced lightness. He doesn’t want to think about Akaashi partying with a bunch of hotties, to be completely honest, but it’s the kind of thing a friend would say. 

Akaashi shrugs. “Ah, not really. I guess I’m not that into that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, of course not. It’d probably intrude on your deep philosophical thinking time, right?”

“Something like that.”

_APRIL_

The warm spring weather brings with it rain and thunder, casting the whole world in shadow.

“I had a dream last night,” Bokuto says, his heart skipping a beat the way it always does when he speaks to Akaashi these days. The gym is empty - the last client is already gone, and the two of them are left alone to wipe down the machines and lock up. The sound of rain pounding on the roof fills the silent gym. 

Akaashi pauses in the middle of wiping down an elliptical. “Hm? About what?” Something about Bokuto’s tone must’ve caught his attention, because he sets down his bottle of cleaning spray and plops cross-legged down onto the floor without hesitation. 

Bokuto settles into a similar position, toying with the cleaning rag in his hand. “Um, it’s...complicated, I guess. I think I died.”

The dream had been intense, but not in a bad way. Intense isn’t the right word, really - it felt _real._ It felt peaceful. 

—

There was a lot happening in the dream. A frantic sort of energy. 

He and his friends had been...going...somewhere? The destination wasn’t important, it seems. They were running through a large building. Room after room, every one different than the last. 

They passed through a brightly-lit room, illuminated thoroughly with a bright clear light - midday sunlight, it seemed, although there were no windows in sight. The walls and floor and ceiling were all white, perfectly clean and unmarked. His friends hurried ahead into the darkness of the next room; the living room, his dream-state intuition told him. 

Bokuto lagged behind, watching his friends disappear into the doorway and the room beyond. He turned around and found a young man standing a respectful distance behind him - beautiful beyond words, but in a wholesome way. Curly hair, warm eyes, freckles. Bokuto didn’t know who he was in the dream and it remains a mystery upon waking, but he was certain that the man was well-intentioned. 

He also knew without a shadow of a doubt that the man was dead. 

The stranger held out his hand to Bokuto, who hesitated a moment. The man before him is dead - surely taking his hand cannot be a good idea. Slowly, tentatively, Bokuto reached out and touched the outstretched hand. The skin was cold, dead, and Bokuto pulled back immediately in shock. 

But the way the man was looking at him, so patient and understanding, gave him pause. All of the kindness in the world danced behind those warm eyes. The man stayed like that with his hand outstretched, a kind smile tugging at his lips, until Bokuto found the courage to place his hand gently into the other’s palm. 

As soon as their hands linked, he was swept off his feet into a dance. The two of them swirled across the room, so gracefully that they could have been floating. 

As soon as the dance began, however, Bokuto was pierced with a profound and overwhelming sense of loss. The grief was so deep that he had the sudden thought that he must be dying. What other explanation could there be for him to be dancing so beautifully in this white room with a dead man? 

And so Bokuto asked him. _Am I dying?_ The stranger only smiled softly, and half shrugged. The response set Bokuto at ease. _I suppose it would be nice to rest for a bit, actually,_ he told the man. 

And so they danced. Bokuto can’t dance at all in real life, but in the dream they were ballroom dancing as if it were the easiest thing in the world. As they danced, that overwhelming sadness began to fade. Before long, it was just a distant memory.

The peace that settled over him was absolute.

But then the reality of the situation hit him. Somewhere, somehow, he was dying. He was outside of his body, with no memory of his own demise. In a moment of blind panic, he asked the man, _will it hurt? Will it hurt when I die?_ But by the time he had finished speaking the words he realized that the answer wouldn’t matter anyway. 

_Not really,_ came the response. The first words the stranger had spoken. _Probably not._

The words themselves were not comforting, but Bokuto found that it didn’t really matter to him either way. Nothing mattered much at all. 

_You’ll feel sad,_ the man continued. _Overwhelmingly sad. But then that too will pass._

Bokuto remembered the feeling he had when they began to dance. A deep, sickening sadness. The kind of grief that would crumple him to the floor. Sadness that aches in the back of the throat, the crevice of the chest. 

He realized that he may have already died without even noticing. And what does it matter, anyway? 

But, no, that’s not right. The sadness was still there, an undercurrent of loss. When did they stop dancing? He stepped back from the stranger, released his hands, and felt all the peace and weightless bliss from before abandoning him as the weight of living came crashing back down upon him. With effort, he turned from the angel and ran through the darkened doorway and into the room beyond.

His friends were waiting for him. He couldn’t leave them.

—

Akaashi sits for a moment in silence, taking it in. “What do you think it means?” He asks softly. 

“I was hoping you could tell me,” he answers. He has been puzzling over it all day, aching for a moment to ask Akaashi about it. Even now, that feeling of peace feels so close - just out of reach.

“I think…” Akaashi hesitates. “I think maybe it’s your way of coping with loss.”

Bokuto thinks for a moment about what that could mean. He lost his father a year ago, almost exactly. Maybe the anniversary is getting to him. Akaashi knows the day is coming up - that must be what he’s referring to. Bokuto is surprised he even remembered. 

“But I was me,” Bokuto says. “There was no one else there dying. It wasn’t about anyone else.”

“Death is personal,” he shrugs. “At that last moment, the only thing you have is yourself. And when someone in your life dies, you’re left alone to deal with it. No one can do that part for you. No one can take your grief, and no one can take your death. It’s all about you, when it comes down to it.”

Silence settles over them.

“I think I’m going to quit,” Bokuto says after a long moment. 

Akaashi considers his response carefully, undeterred by the abrupt change of subject. “I’ll miss you if you do, but you have to do what’s best for you.”

_I’ll miss you._

Bokuto nods one, twice, three times. “Thanks, man. For all of this.” He grabs his cleaning spray and stands up, ready to get back to work. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Akaashi says from his position on the floor, gesturing at Bokuto’s cleaning supplies. “That. I’ll finish up in here. You can head home.”

And so he does. With a gentle word of thanks, Bokuto heads out. 

He sits in his car for a long moment, listening to the soft pattering on rain on the windshield, before turning the key in the ignition. He replays the conversation in his head over and over, unable to ignore the gentle way Akaashi had spoken to him. The moment was so deeply personal. He’s never had something like that with a friend.

But Akaashi isn’t exactly a normal friend. 

_MAY_

May brings uncomfortably warm weather, earlier than expected, just in time for the gym’s air conditioning system to shudder out its last breath of cool air. 

Bokuto’s morale is at an all-time low. The gym reeks incessantly of sweat, tangy and inescapable. He finds it nearly impossible to leave his air conditioned apartment each morning. 

Today finds him standing in the locker room after his last session of the day, running his hands under cool water just to feel a moment of relief. 

Akaashi comes in, his entrance heralded by that horrible squeaking door, and immediately strips off his shirt. Bokuto makes eye contact with him in the mirror at that exact moment, then determinedly fixes his eyes on the water rushing from the tap. 

“I wish they’d fix this damn air conditioning already,” Bokuto complains, just to fill the silence. They’ve had this conversation a thousand times by now, but this heat is just impossible to ignore. 

Akaashi grunts in agreement, and Bokuto feels a sudden and inexplicable irritation take over. He’s trying to be fucking pleasant, you know? And Akaashi can’t even make the effort to respond? Bokuto is getting real sick that holier-than-thou fake deep bulllshit-

He cuts off the tap abruptly, trying to escape that train of thought. Akaashi is his friend. 

But, _god,_ these ups and downs they’ve had over the months are getting really old. That tension since the moment they met - what is it? Anger? Lust? Affection? Bokuto is sick of trying to figure it out, but Akaashi seems incapable of being straightforward for just once in his goddamn life.

Bokuto dries his hands under the too-loud hand dryer, buying himself another moment of time before turning to face Akaashi. Hopefully he’ll have a shirt on by then. 

Thankfully, Akaashi is fully clothed by the time Bokuto is finished. The two of them work in silence, gathering their belongings as quickly as possible to escape the sticky heat of the locker room.

The two of them head to the parking lot together, pausing for just a moment to switch off the lights and lock the door. 

The world outside is washed-out and dreary with the last of the spring rains. Coupled with the warm temperature, the weather is humid and musty and horribly unpleasant. The cooling rains of April are gone, replaced by the nasty hot rains of summer. 

Bokuto can’t help but make a noise of disgust at the feeling of the warm air clinging to his skin. Akaashi looks at him wordlessly, waiting for Bokuto to go on.

“I’m just...sick of it. Coming to this stupid place every day and getting some stranger’s sweat on me. I feel like there’s so much more I could be doing with my time. And the _air conditioning,_ man. It doesn’t feel fucking worth it.”

”I understand. It gets overwhelming sometimes. But look,” Akaashi says, gesturing to the overcast sky, “today it’s cloudy, but the sun is still there even if you can’t see it.” 

_Oh, shut the fuck up,_ Bokuto wants to snap. This guy thinks he’s the pinnacle of philosophical thought because he pointed out that the _sun is still around on cloudy days?_ A proverb like that could be found on any department store throw pillow. 

Instead, he lets out a huff of breath. “Yeah, something like that,” he mutters. With a word of goodbye, Bokuto makes his escape from this worthless conversation and heads to his car.

Once inside, he groans and rests his head against the steering wheel. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take before he loses his goddamn mind.

This thing. This _thing_ with Akaashi. It’s not enough to keep him here, working every day at a dead-end job. This thing is nothing at all, anyway. It’s a waste of his time - all this back and forth and tension has amounted to nothing. 

_Don’t screw it up, Bokuto. Don’t let it go on like this a moment longer. Let it go, hold on tight_ \- he wants to scream from the frustration and indecision of it all.

He turns the key in the ignition, ready to go home and make dinner and shower and go to sleep and do the same shit again tomorrow. 

Deep breaths.

The sky opens up, and it begins to pour.

_JUNE_

Oh, fuck it. He got too in his head. Jump first, ask questions later, right? Why all the stalling? Bokuto has never been like this.

As a rule, Bokuto doesn’t hesitate. When he dislikes a job, he quits. When he wants someone, he lets them know. Rejection is the worst that could happen, and it’s really the other person’s loss if they turn him down. So why has he allowed this _thing_ with Akaashi to go on for so long like this? Nothing has happened. Nothing has even begun to happen. 

This _thing_ is nothing. This thing is so much more than anything he’s ever had before. 

He attributes his meekness to their rocky start, but he knows it isn’t the whole truth. Something about Akaashi makes him nervous, like any misstep could shatter this fragile thing they’ve built. Like ruining this would be far worse than living in this limbo state of uncertainty. 

The warm weather is making him restless. 

It’s always been physical between them, hasn’t it? The deep talks and gentle touches and weighted glances are there, but what do they mean? The one thing he can be sure of is this: he wants Akaashi. 

It should be easy, knowing guys like that. That’s what all of this has been leading up to, right? All this tension. All this pent-up emotion. They both want the same thing. It doesn’t have to mean anything. 

Bokuto has never been the relationship type anyway. Especially not with a jackass like this. He can’t picture them as a couple - Akaashi, with his stoic silence and snide remarks, has nothing in common with Bokuto’s boisterous energy. They would make a terrible pair. 

No, a relationship makes no sense. Bokuto wants something else, anyway. Something that they don’t need to like each other for. And from the way Akaashi looks at him (dark eyes, mischievous smiles) he must be on the same page. 

Bokuto has to give himself near-constant reminders to keep his thoughts and fantasies in check while at work. But why keep it a secret any longer? It’s not as if they’re discreet, the way they practically walk around making bedroom eyes at each other. The only question is how to finally initiate it after all these months of buildup. 

They don’t text unless it’s about work. Besides, it’s hard to say _let’s fuck_ to someone out of the blue anyway. Better to make his move in person when he can read the vibes. It would be much more natural that way - step a bit closer, murmur a few words, let attraction do the rest. 

Bokuto is fired up. He’s ready to take any risk to make this happen. It’s about damn time they act on this _thing_ that’s happening between them. 

That’s when Akaashi ends up in the hospital with a broken wrist. 

_JULY_

By the time Akaashi has healed enough to return to work a few weeks later, Bokuto has lost his nerve. 

A string of tinder meet-ups got his summer off to the right start, and his primal fantasies of shoving Akaashi up against a wall began to dissipate. 

When Akaashi walks back into the gym for the first time in weeks, though, Bokuto is forced to face a much harsher truth.

It was never just physical.

The tension was real, undeniably so, but there was more depth to it than he was willing to admit. It wasn’t just him longing for a hookup after a dry spell. It wasn’t the attraction of two people who know what they want. He had let his frustration and his fear get in the way of seeing what was right in front of him.

The way Akaashi looks at him when he walks into the gym is beyond the scope of words. It feels real. It feels like the realest thing in Bokuto’s life. 

The realization comes all at once. No more bullshit, no more trying to hate him. No more pretending that this is just some silly flirtation. 

This is real. 

This is his whole world. 

“I had another weird dream while you were out,” Bokuto says by way of greeting as Akaashi approaches. 

And - there. The smile Akaashi gives him is so warm that Bokuto is nearly blinded by it. 

“What was the dream?”

“That my idiot friend fell off his bike and broke his wrist.”

“Ah, well I’m glad it didn’t come true. Kuroo doesn’t deserve that. And this place would fall apart if we were both out.” 

Bokuto resists the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s good to have you back,” he says, finally. 

Then Akaashi does something entirely new. He closes the distance between them in one stride, and wraps Bokuto into a hug. Bokuto’s chin finds its way to Akaashi’s shoulder as they tug each other even closer. He rests there for far longer than he should, basking in this warmth. He breathes in the feeling, trying to commit it to memory. This closeness. The overwhelming rightness of it all. 

And then Akaashi pulls back, and Bokuto releases his hold immediately. Takes a step back. Smiles. Casually, as if his heart isn’t pounding. He sees something in Akaashi’s eyes, too. 

The moment is broken when Kuroo walks in. “Oh hey, look what the cat dragged in,” he says, clapping Akaashi roughly on the back. “Good to see you, man.”

“Yeah, good to be back,” Akaashi says easily. Bokuto envies the sincere way he says it, the way Akaashi truly looks forward to work each day. He wonders distantly (selfishly) if Akaashi ever looks forward to seeing him, too - if maybe that’s part of why he always comes to work in a good mood every day. 

“I can’t believe you weaseled your way into three weeks vacation for a broken wrist,” Kuroo laughs. 

Akaashi doesn’t bother to protest much. “Yeah, well. It was nice to have some time off to heal. But I’ve really missed this place...I’m glad to be back now. This wrist thing was really inconvenient, to be honest, so it’s not like I was having a great time anyway.”

“Too bad you didn’t have a hot babe taking care of you,” Kuroo croons. Bokuto freezes.

Akaashi rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “It’s not exactly easy to date with a broken wrist,” he says. He looks at Bokuto and holds his gaze for a beat longer than the situation calls for. 

For perhaps the first time in his life, Bokuto is too nervous to speak. 

He lets Kuroo and Akaashi carry the conversation, instead, until a client walks in and they’re forced to get to work. He worries - too late - about whether or not Akaashi noticed his silence. 

He tries not to be disappointed when Akaashi fails to mention it. 

_AUGUST_

Bokuto groans to his empty apartment. Staying on task has never been his strong suit. 

Sitting in front of his laptop to write a job application, all he can think about is Akaashi. Akaashi’s rare and gentle laugh, his secret addiction to sweets, his calm and steady mannerisms. Akaashi, Akaashi, Akaashi. 

A full four weeks have passed since Akaashi returned to work, and the energy between them has been electric. 

Last night, Bokuto made up his mind to finally ask him out. The thought is terrifying - rejection is always bad, but rejection from a coworker would be the kind of mortification that he would never be able to escape. He’d have to quit his job, move to a new city, potentially change his name. But it would be worth it, just to know. Just to avoid having to spend his whole life wondering if he had missed the chance for something great. 

But that will have to wait until tomorrow. Today, Bokuto needs to write this application. No more waiting around. It’s time to grab life by the throat and make it his bitch, or whatever.

But, oh my god, job applications are so _boring._ He forces himself to open a word document to start on a cover letter, and —

Thankfully, his phone chimes with a new text. A perfect distraction. 

Looking back on this moment, it’ll feel like it happened in slow motion. He’ll wish he hadn’t opened the text so quickly, just so he could remain blissfully unaware for a moment longer. He’ll wish he hadn’t been stupid enough to believe in another person. He’ll wish he threw his phone into the ocean long before this ever happened. 

But he couldn’t have known any of that. 

The text is from Akaashi. His heart skips a beat (should’ve known better). He opens the text (wait-), not sure what to expect. Probably (no) something work related. 

The first thing he sees doesn’t make sense. A picture: Akaashi with his arm around some woman, the two of them standing in a vineyard at sunset with big smiles on their faces. The text below it reads simply: “You are important to us and we value your friendship. We are inviting you to celebrate our wedding ceremony and our love!” There’s a date beneath - tomorrow morning? - and the address for Akaashi’s apartment. 

Clearly a copy-and-paste message. 

Bokuto isn’t quite sure why that’s the first thought he has. The second thought is _what._ Followed by _what the fuck._ And several other variations. He looks at the photo again, then the words. Something seems off. The wording is kinda weird. And the picture - who even is that woman? Not to mention the date: Tomorrow. Less than 24 hours away. What? 

Who the hell gets married at 11:00am on a Thursday to a secret girlfriend and sends impersonal invites out over text _less than a day in advance_? Something is off. Something isn’t adding up. 

Bokuto reads it again and again, looking for the joke. It seems a little bit funny. Like there’s some inside joke here that Akaashi expected him to understand. 

Something is off. _Nothing_ adds up. 

His phone chimes again. A text from Kuroo. _DID YOU SEE THE TEXT?_

Bokuto: _yeah, what the hell is this…?_

Kuroo: _I TOLD YOU I KNEW A SECRET AHGFJHGSK_

Bokuto: _??? I thought he broke up with his fiance like 10 months ago???? wha_

Kuroo: _yeah, best to not mention that ahaha, this is a different woman actually_

Kuroo: _but they’re perfect together_

Kuroo: _it has been SO HARD to keep it a secret all this time!!!!!_

So. Kuroo knew. 

That can’t be right. Something is off. Why didn’t Bokuto know that Akaashi had a girlfriend? A fiancé. Akaashi had been so open about his last fiancé, from the stories everyone tells and the pictures he still hasn’t deleted from social media, so what the hell is this all about? 

Their group chat blows up with message after message. Excited, confused, joyful. It looks like Kuroo is the only person who knew anything, but everyone else is ready to celebrate now. What wonderful news Akaashi found love, they say, how perfect those two must be together. 

Bokuto locks his phone and places it face-down on his desk. 

So…what? Everything, every little moment and kind word and gentle touch. None of it meant anything? Was it all in his head the whole time, just his ego convincing him that someone like Akaashi might actually care about him? 

No. How could he have imagined that? Bokuto isn’t an expert on these things, but he’s not an idiot either. He knows what he saw. He knows what he experienced. 

Was Akaashi toying with him the whole time, then? Flirting just for the fun of watching Bokuto fall? Was it all just one big misunderstanding? Or did Akaashi feel something real, but feel something realer with this other person?

Does Akaashi even like guys?

Or maybe this isn’t a real wedding. Something is off. A green card, maybe. Or maybe this woman got pregnant- no, he can’t think of that. Something is off. Something doesn’t add up. 

These questions keep Bokuto up into the early hours of the morning. The world is still and quiet outside his window, but he tosses and turns in bed. He tells himself he needs rest. 

He needs to look nice for the wedding.

—

Bokuto tries to feel something.

Watching Akaashi stand up there beside some faceless woman should hurt like hell.

He should be happy for them at least. The way Akaashi looks at her, as if she put the sun in the sky – Bokuto has never seen that look before. It’s softer than anything he has ever known. Softer than Akaashi ever looked at him.

It isn’t a ruse. It isn’t a fake wedding, a shotgun wedding, a green card wedding. It’s real, and the people in front of him are hopelessly in love with each other. Close friends and family are crammed into Akaashi’s little apartment - the apartment he’s been sharing with this woman for longer than Bokuto can guess - cheering and crying and celebrating together.

The bride is beautiful. Tall, lean, with shiny hair that falls past her shoulders gracefully. Her eyes shine with emotion through the whole ceremony, but she stays composed. Regal. 

The groom is handsome beyond words. Bokuto should feel something when he looks at him. He knows he should. 

The couple gaze into each other’s eyes. They say vows that bring half the crowd to tears. Bokuto watches their faces: the way they stumble over their words, sharing quick and meaningful looks with each other as they read off their notecards; the way Akaashi’s eyes shine with unshed tears when she tells the story of how they first met; the way she bows her head to hide her own tears when he tells her how much better he is for having her in his life. The officiant says the words, and the bride and groom dutifully respond, “I do.”

Bokuto watches as the man he loves kisses his new wife. Right in front of him.

And he should feel something.

He should feel devastated, for losing everything he thought he had. He should feel happy for the couple in front of him, even if it means letting go. He should feel angry, for the wasted months and the lies and the deception. 

But he doesn’t.

He feels nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is actually based on a true story that took place over 3 years and involved TWO secret fiances. I wrote this to cope in the week after the wedding, and decided to go ahead and post it! if it seems open-ended or confusing, that's because life is open-ended and confusing. sorry, Bokuto :(
> 
> thank you for reading! this was my first haikyuu fic, so any feedback is super appreciated! :-)
> 
> my twitter: [desdeestrellas](https://twitter.com/desdeestrellas)


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